


In My Head

by capnniebs



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 22:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capnniebs/pseuds/capnniebs
Summary: Grif was abandoned on the moonbase and that fucked him up Bigtime, now he's hearing voices.He and Locus still helped save the day but instead of going for pizza, they all went back to Chorus for some medical attention.In which Grif's a lot more messed up than anyone- even he- expected.





	1. Hearing Voices

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a small angsty fic about Grif and Simmons after season 15 and then it GREW.  
> I wrote this all in one day but decided it needed to be divided up because it's... A LOT  
> I wrote this bc it was in my head and had to get- I think it was in my head bc of a post that said something along the lines of ‘I hate when a fic is looks Grimmins-centric but you read it and it’s actually all Tuckington’ and I felt personally called out  
> Probably a lot of mistakes bc lets be real, I didn't proof read this shit

It had been a few hours since they’d won against the blues and reds. Things were obviously still awkward between Grif and everyone even if they claimed to have forgiven him. He wanted to go get pizza, but Tucker had convinced everyone to go back to Chorus.

It really hadn’t taken much convincing- everyone wanted to check up on Wash and if they were being honest, their friends and kiddos back in Armonia.

Standing in the ship heading back to Chorus gave Grif a grim sense of déjà vu. He really hoped their trip didn’t end up like their last one passing by Chorus. Maybe he should man the controls for a bit.

Just- just to make sure.

He was the designated driver…pilot? Whatever- of their rag tag group, after all. He was the most qualified.

Plus, he had spent a bit of those weeks in solitude on the moon trying to study up on and practice flying=- landing specifically…after Sidewinder.

He had taught himself a lot of things in those weeks.

He _had_ to prove he was useful. And wouldn’t quit again. He wouldn’t abandon them again.

He sat down at the controls and waited for the inevitable insults from Sarge or Simmons or Tucker. He could hear them in his head,

_If we weren’t going to crash before, you at the controls will make sure of it._

_You know the steering controls aren’t Ho-Ho’s, right?_

_Grif’s steering? Perfect! A captain always goes down with his ship!_

He flinched at the voices in his head and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. They had every right to insult him but for things to go back to normal he had to play his part,

“Wow, guys. Come on, I came back and saved you all, remember?”

He waited to hear the usual arguments,

_Uh, Locus saved us- all you did was get captured._

_Yeah, you good-for-nothing, you could have at least died as a distraction!_

_Hey, he also shot my annoying doppelganger!_

Ah, good ole Simmons coming to his defense. Maybe he wasn’t such a lost cause…maybe…maybe they could…

Grif shook his head. Right. That was wishful thinking Simmons who would show up every once in a while. On days that Grif would remember the closet incident. On nights that Grif would let himself indulge in fantasy rather than reality.

But he would always come back to cruel reality. There was a reason they pretended it didn’t happen. He would wake up the next day with Simmons’ taunting voice in his head reminding him that what he felt would never amount to anything. That he was a quitter, he was fat and lazy and unlovable- except to a sister who depended on him and owes him for those few years of hard work for food and a shitty apartment.

But she could survive on her own now. And the reds and blues needed Grif to hate so they could work together.

Grif shook his head and glanced around the small ship. Everyone was helmetless and asleep except for Simmons who was staring at him with furrowed eyebrows.

Huh, when had they all fallen asleep?

Grif avoided eye contact for a few seconds, shifting uncomfortably in his seat before he remembered he had to act normal for everything to go back to the way it was before.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to smirk,

“What? Do I have something on my face? Or am I just so handsome you can’t look away?”

Grif regretted the words as soon as he saw Simmons blush and twist his mouth into a grimace.

_Who the hell would think you were handsome, huh? Maybe if I were going blind._

Grif’s own mouth dropped into a frown and he wrinkled his nose in self-disgust, but he kept his voice steady. He needed to keep pretending, keep up the banter,

“I’ll have you know that plenty of people think I’m hot- all with perfect vision!”

Simmons’ grimace deepened and he stood up, taking the few steps to the pilot’s chair. Grif cringed a little at the closeness but straightened himself out. Normal. Normal. Normal.

“Grif, are you okay?”

The question surprised him, why wouldn’t he be? And why would Simmons care?

“Uh, yeah? Are _you_?”

Simmons shifted his weight from foot to foot, seeming unsure of his next sentence,

“It’s just- you’re talking weird.”

Shit. Grif wasn’t doing well enough going back to normal. Deny it.

“What are you talking about? I’m talking normal, did you hit your head?”

Yes, now Simmons would get all defensive ~~and cute~~ and they’d bicker like normal and-

“I mean,” Simmons sounded more confident, more confrontational, “you’ve been talking like you’re part of a conversation only you can hear.”

That made no sense. He’s been talking to Simmons this whole time and responding to Sarge like he normally would.

“Simmons I have no clue what you’re talking about. Go rest your concussion, okay? Have Grey check you out when we land.”

“Grif, I’m serious! Have Grey check _you_ out when we get to Chorus! I think-”

“I’m serious too, Simmons! Concussions can fuck with your head! Trust me, Sarge gave me enough I think I might be an expert by now, or maybe that’s just the concussion talking.”

Grif turned to look up at Simmons, smiling. Hopefully that would lighten the mood and make Simmons drop the subject. But from the way Simmons dropped his hands and turned around, Grif could tell the conversation wasn’t over. He’d have to find a way to avoid Simmons for a bit once they landed- maybe he could find some of his old napping spots.

Maybe he’d go back to the closet- there was no _way_ Simmons would ever willingly go there again. It had been a good hiding place before the Temple, it would be an even better one now.

He could probably get Bitters and Matthews to go on some kitchen raids too, even if there were more supplies and rations to go around, they could still have fun sneaking around.

Although, that would probably depend on if Bitters and Matthews were still in the army…in the capitol at all. No- Bitters had been on Earth! He was still around! Yeah, Grif wouldn’t abandon Gold Team. He- he would spend time with them all at least.

Except- shit. Bitters and Matthews were the only ones left…weren’t they. After all the fighting… Grif had almost forgotten.

He was getting tired flying the ship. He glanced around for someone else to take over while he took a nap, but Simmons now had his eyes closed, face relaxed. Grif let himself watch the maroon soldier for a few minutes, mind wandering back to fantasies he only let himself think about when no one was around to see the hurt on his face when he would snap out of it.

He turned his full attention back to flying, trying and failing to ignore the deep ache in his chest.

~~~~~

Luckily, pretty much everyone else woke up before Simmons- preventing another Talk. By then it wasn’t long before Grif landed the plane and everyone was swarmed by their friends on Chorus.

Tucker, Caboose, and Carolina demanded to be taken to see Wash, pointedly ignoring Palomo. Meanwhile Kimble and Dr. Grey were able to corner the rest of red team into some physical examinations that Sarge was a little too agreeable to.

Amidst all the commotion, Grif was able to quietly slip away to his and Simmons’ old room to take a nap in peace.

Sometimes he was grateful for how forgettable he was. Ignoring the stabbing he felt in his stomach at that thought, Grif closed his eyes and hunkered down, ready and happy to forget the universe for a few hours.

He woke up when the door slammed open and Sarge came barging inside. Grif pretended to remain asleep- after all, he had never been so easy to wake up before. It was just once he trained himself to listen for any sign of life when he was alone on that moon…

“Wake up, you ingrate! The doctor says everyone needs a check-up!”

Grif didn’t move. He heard the tell-tale click of a shotgun safety being turned off. After a minute, he expected to see the end of the barrel when he opened his eyes.

He was surprised to see Sarge’s back turned to him as he left the room.

Great, now Sarge was acting weird. He deserved it. He deserved to be given up on.

He wondered where Simmons was- usually he volunteered to get Grif up, since Sarge rarely could accomplish the task.

Grif sat up, not completely sure what to do with himself. He wanted to follow Sarge, to prove he wouldn’t quit them again and that he was still…part of the team. But if things were to go back to normal, he should act like he always did…

Plus, he was actually a little concerned that Simmons was nowhere to be seen or heard. Sarge would never willingly waste his time on Grif… only to purposely miss an opportunity to shoot him.

He let out a frustrated sigh. He got up to make his way to the infirmary- he’d think up some excuse for why he went there on his own. Maybe he could say he wanted some drugs…

The orange soldier took off the rest of his armor, laying it carefully on the bed- it’ll be harder to recognize him out of armor. Less people will want to stop him and talk to him and- he was getting tired just thinking about it. He threw on some sweats and started on his way.

He had a few close calls, but Grif successfully made his way to Dr. Grey’s office without interruption. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“How can I help you?”

The cheery voice behind him made Grif jump a foot in the air and nearly stopped his heart.

“Oh! Captain Grif! How nice of you to grace us with your presence!”

Grif turned around to face the terrifying eyes of Dr. Emily Grey,

“I, uh, heard you were doing check-ups?”

His gaze flickered between hers and Kimball’s behind her. Grey turned around Grif watched as she and Kimball nodded at each other before Kimball took her leave. Then Grey opened the door to her office and extended an arm for Grif to follow.

He sat in a chair and watched as she pulled out a flashlight,

“So, Captain Grif, they tell me you spent a significant amount of time alone on that moon.”

Grif’s stomach turned and he heard Dr. Grey’s voice in his head,

_Psychoanalyses for everyone!_

“Yeah,” he replied, “I finally got some peace and quiet without fearing for my life every 10 minutes. It was a nice retirement.”

Grif remembered having a therapist when his mom left him and Kaikaina alone. He knew she just wanted to help, but there was nothing wrong with him. The less he talked the less she got into his head.

He saw her smile kindly before shining the flashlight into his eyeball.

“It must have been nice, no one to threaten you, or wake you from naps, or bother you with incessant talking.”

He knew she was baiting him, he remained silent.

“No Sarge or Tucker or Caboose or Donut-”

Fuck, where the hell _was_ Donut, anyway?

“-or Simmons.”

Grif blinked. His eyes were dry from staring for too long. She moved the flashlight to his other eye,

“I wouldn’t suppose you want to visit any of them in their rooms?”

Grif decided he’d bite, “I’m not a psychopath, lady, jeez! Do they-are they seriously hurt? I mean, Sarge can’t be since he came and got me, but um, Simmons had a concussion I think.”

He heard his voice waver a bit and cursed himself. Stupid emotions.

Grey dropped her hands and moved to the other side of her desk and picked up a pad and typed some notes,

“Captain Simmons has a mild concussion and three bruised ribs, and he has been put on bedrest for the next 24 hours just to make sure his condition doesn’t worsen.”

She picked up a scanner and told Grif to stand up,

“He’s allowed to have visitors- Private Jensen was with him last I saw. I’m sure he’d be happy to get a break from her and see a friend.”

Grif felt his heart stutter and closed his eyes, knowing Dr. Grey had detected it on her scanner,

“Naw, he doesn’t want to see me.”

Grif opened his eyes when the green flow from the scanner disappeared. He saw Dr. Grey frown and lower the scanner,

“Obviously, from the way he asked for you the minute his exam was over.”

She turned around and wrote a few more notes in the pad. Grif heard the door open behind him and Sarge’s voice rang in his head,

_You good for nothing, corrupting my men! Can’t even show up to get help properly!_

Grif rolled his eyes and muttered,

“Yeah, yeah, I can’t even die right- I know- no need to rub it in, Sarge.”

_What was that?_

“No need to rub it in, Sarge, sir!”

Grif turned around to walk out, not even wanting to hear what Dr. Grey saw with the scanner. He felt fine, so he probably wasn’t hurt and he wasn’t in the mood to take any shit from Sarge until after another long-ass nap.

Sarge must have come in just to insult him, because when Grif turned around the door was closed and no one was there. He put an arm up to open the door, but Dr. Grey spoke, sounding a little alarmed,

“Captain Grif!”

He turned around, tired from the entire interaction, to see her with wide eyes just staring at him.

“Uhhh, yes, ma’am?”

She narrowed her eyes and looked down at her pad,

“I think I’m going to put you under the same 24-hour surveillance as Simmons. I am assigning you to the same room so you two can look after each other,”

Grif groaned and Dr. Grey gave him a stern look before continuing,

“If you want to resist, I am happy to sedate you and keep you for longer!”

“That might make it easier,” Grif muttered.

He watched Dr. Grey eye him carefully before make her way to the door,

“Follow me, Captain Grif! We’re going to make a quick stop at the pharmacy to get you some muscle relaxers! You and Captain Simmons both! Just to make your stay a little more comfortable. You’ve strained some of your muscles and I can’t imagine that feels too great!”

Grif grunted and followed. Maybe with his luck, Simmons would be so out of it he wouldn’t want to talk, or maybe he could just ignore Simmons and just sleep the entire time. He decided to give into his shitty emotions, the jig was probably up anyway.

“So how are the others? Wash? And Sarge? He ran out of your office so fast I didn’t even see him,” he asked.

Dr. Grey stopped for a second and considered him before she continued walking,

“Sarge has been wandering around since his check-up. He got away relatively scot-free, so he’s been running errands for me and checking on the others. I haven’t seen him since I asked him to fetch you,”

Something in her voice made Grif uneasy, and he felt like she was scolding him or accusing him of something. He decided not to bring up what he heard Sarge say in her office. She continued,

“Agents Washington and Carolina are both on full bed rest until they make a full recovery mentally and physically. Agent Washington got out of surgery yesterday and is still in critical condition, but our hopes are high. Captains Caboose and Tucker both have internal bleeding and fractured ribs and will be taking it easy, despite their protests.”

The strain in her voice made it obvious that one or both of them were proving their recovery difficult for her as their physician. It was unsurprising though, Grif assumed Tucker was trying to visit Wash any chance he could get. The two of them rounded a corner and stopped in front of a door,

“And you’ve already heard about Captain Simmons!”

Dr. Grey opened the door and led Grif into the room. There laid Simmons with his eyes closed on a hospital bed while Jensen and Palomo sat playing cards on the other bed. The pair looked up from their game and gasped,

“Captain Grif!”

Then they lowered their voices,

“We looked everywhere for you! Matthews wanted to see you! We’ll go get him!”

Grif suddenly felt 20 times more tired and opened his mouth to reply, but Dr. Grey beat him to it,

“I think you should let him and Captain Simmons rest for a while before inviting more people to yell and disturb my patients! I can keep you two busy around here if you want to stick around!”

The two looked at each other in horror and shook their heads.

“That’s alright Dr. Grey!” Jensen said just before Palomo spoke,

“We can go see Captain Tucker then we’ve got some, um, stuff to take care of for Kimball!”

The pair of them left in a hurry while Dr. Grey happily replied,

“I’m sure you do!” Then she turned to Grif and pointed at the bed. He obediently got in while she placed the medicine on his side table,

“Take one now and tell him to take one when he wakes up,” she nodded toward Simmons, “You can take one every hour, but I’ll probably have someone check on you every hour to make sure you’re doing alright.”

She turned to leave and waved as she pointedly left the door cracked open,

“Rest well!”

Grif sighed and grabbed the bottle of pills. He had barely noticed his soreness before, but now his entire body ached. He dry-swallowed his pill and threw the bottle at Simmons,

“You really should take lessons from me on fake sleeping.”

He watched Simmons crack an eye open at him and sat up. Grif continued,

“You heard the Lady Doctor, and there’s no way you don’t hurt after that fight- so take one. I’m going to sleep.”

Simmons was blushing a bit as he opened the bottle,

“I love those two but after two hours of them, I kind of couldn’t take it anymore so I tried telling them I’d go to sleep so they’d leave but then they just stayed here!”

He swallowed,

“Besides, where were _you_? Trying to get out of doing work?”

Oh, right. There it was. Grif’s eye twitched. Stop. This was normal. This was fine. He gave a fake indignant gasp,

“What kind of person do you think I am? Avoiding work? Me? I just didn’t want crazy doctor lady to do experiments on me!”

Simmons side-eyed him,

“So she checked you out? Did she…say anything?”

Grif knew where this was going, better to shut it down early.

“Nope,” he let the ‘P’ sound pop in an attempt to sound more casual, “Said I’m right as rain, just wants to make sure I don’t strain myself, same as you! If you ask me, this is the perfect excuse to get as much napping in as possible!”

Grif refused to look over at Simmons, instead choosing to make himself as comfortable as he could in the shitty hospital bed, his back turned to his friend. A few minutes of silence went by wherein Grif could feel the drugs kick in. It was easy to relax then. He felt himself drift off and heard Simmons shift in the other bed.

He opened his eyes and found himself back on the moon. He felt his heart speed up in panic, he was alone again. Fuck. No! He had to. He had to get off the fucking moon- he had to help Caboose find his best friend! He had to get to his own best friend and tell him he was sorry! That there was no way he could ever hate him! That he-

He looked around the empty moon base and the ruins of the water park. The place was still deserted. They left without him. They left him to die there with no form of communication and no way to leave even if he wanted to (and FUCK did he want to).

They had done what he finally wanted. He made himself unwanted and unneeded by them. So, he got to retire in peace.

He started saying everyone’s lines for him. The voices came a lot quicker this time. He could hear Simmons’ mocking voice. Except this time, he was just saying his name-

_Grif! Grif! Dexter!_

He bolted up in bed with Simmons leaning over him, his hands on his shoulders. For one delusional second Grif thought Simmons was strangling him. Grif’s hands shot up to hold Simmons’ wrists, just to ground himself- to make sure he was really there. That he was really real.

He looked at Simmons desperately, trying to make eye contact through his hazy vision. He just needed to see him.

Simmons slowly released one hand from Grif’s shoulder and raised it to his cheek,

“Dex- you were crying in your sleep. I couldn’t just- I had to wake you up.”

Grif leaned into the touch and sniffed. Oh, he must still be dreaming- for Simmons to be treating him like this. For him to be calling him by his first name. Or maybe it was the drugs, making him a lot more forgiving.

Grif opened his mouth, he was still crying, but he just had to- he _had_ to,

“I’m sorry- I’m so so so so so so sorry, budd- _friend_.”

He moved his own hand from Simmons’ wrist to his hand, to hold Simmons’ human hand to his cheek and keep it there for as long as he possibly could.

The nightmare had just reminded him of all his fears- of all the things he told himself he’d say to Simmons if-no- _when_ he finally saw him again.

Fuck, he realized he hadn’t really slept near any of the reds and blues since they left him alone. Adding in the fact he was drugged up-it was no fucking wonder he freaked out.

He started coming back to his senses, he reluctantly let go of his friend. His friend- who was looking at him with what he only hoped was concern but was probably just weirded out by the entire ordeal.

Really. Simmons only looked at him with actual emotion in his dreams. When he imagined he was back in the closet and Simmons was looking at him like he was the entire world and he reached out and held the cyborg’s face in his hands and-

That had been the Temple and anything else was just Grif’s own imagination.

He coughed and looked around the room, at the clock. It had been a few hours since he fell asleep. Simmons was still sitting on Grif’s bed.

“How- has um, the Doctor been by again?”

Simmons took a deep breath like he wanted to say something, but Grif didn’t want to talk about anything serious. He wanted- he didn’t want to face the rejection he knew was lying in wait.

“Hand me the pills, would you? I think I could do with some more sleep,”

Simmons handed him the bottle and Grif let three pills land in his palm. He pressed his hand to his face and took all three- maybe they’d just let him sleep. He capped the bottle and avoided the disapproving look on Simmons’ face.

Simmons started speaking with a careful voice,

“Grif,”

Back to his last name. The moment had passed. Grif wanted to say he didn’t know why it hurt so much to hear Simmons say his name like that, but he knew.

“Grif, we should talk. I mean, I know we did and we said we were good, but I don’t think we are? I don’t think…you are.”

“I’m fine, Dick,”

For some reason it just felt right to use his first name. But, the second Grif said it, he knew he shouldn’t have.

Simmons’ eyes widened and he stood up, running a hand through his hair. He took a shaky breath,

“See! There! That! That’s what I’m talking about! We almost never!”

Grif sighed and sat up a bit,

“Dude calm down, don’t have an aneurism.”

Simmons turned around and looked at him with wild eyes,

“Calm down? You- you’ve been acting weird ever since you came back! I thought- I _hoped_ we were okay, but obviously we aren’t! I hoped that Dr. Grey would be able to, to _help_ , but if she says nothing’s wrong, then _I_ must be the crazy one, right?”

Grif stood up on shaky legs, fuck maybe he shouldn’t have taken those pills.

“Dude, breathe-it was just a dream, I’m okay- you’re okay. We’re okay. Okay, bud-friend?”

Simmons stopped and turned to look at him. Grif was swaying a bit.

“And that- that friend thing. Why are you, what’s up with that?”

Grif yawned, “It’s just what you are, right? You’re my friend. You’re my buddy, but friend sounds…better.”

Simmons absently scratched as his forearm then took a step toward Grif,

“I- yes, but- here, Grif sit down before you hurt yourself.”

Simmons grabbed Grif’s arm and directed him back to his bed.

Maybe it was the pills or maybe Grif really was distracted or…something, but he heard Simmons’ voice even though he didn’t see his mouth moving.

_Jeez, fatass. Sleeping is supposed to be one of the things you’re good at and you can’t even do that right? I’d have thought you would’ve gotten really good with all the practice you got by yourself on the moon._

“Didn’t,” he mumbled, “Didn’t sleep much there.”

He saw Simmons move back a bit, through bleary eyes.

“What?” Simmons asked.

“You’re wrong,” Grif continued, “Didn’t get much practice sleeping there cause- cause it was hard to sleep once everyone was- once it was just me.”

“Grif I didn’t say… I’m gonna go get Dr. Grey.”

Grif felt the warm body that was Simmons move away from him and he wearily reached out to keep him near, but he was too tired to move much.

He didn’t dream this time around- not that he remembered anyway. He just solely woke up to voices,

“I _knew_ I wasn’t crazy! He’s- there’s something _wrong_. It’s like he-”

“He’s talking to people who aren’t there?”

“Yes!”

Grif wanted to feign sleep, but he hated where the conversation was going more than he hated talking to people.

“Jeez, maybe wake me up for my own diagnosis.”

Simmons jumped at his voice,

 “Grif!”

Dr. Grey looked at Grif then back at Simmons. Grif caught her eye and shook his head. He knew he’d have to talk to her- he just didn’t want an audience. Especially not Simmons.

He’d have to talk to Simmons too. Ugh- he’ll have to come up with a good lie. Or maybe he’d just finally tell him the truth. But then he’d leave him again and he just wanted everything to go back to normal.

He looked at the clock again, it seemed he’d slept for much longer this time. About 12 hours. That used to pretty much be his norm. But it had been a while since he’d slept that long.

He sighed and rubbed at his face. He was a wreck- how did he become such a wreck?

“Captain Simmons!” Dr. Grey’s cheery voice brought Grif back to attention, “I do believe I can clear you from surveillance now. You can leave!”

Simmons looked hesitant,

“But I can’t leave-”

“You. Can. Leave.” She repeated, “Thank you, Captain.”

Simmons stood up abruptly. Grif had to suppress a grin. Simmons had such a huffy temper sometimes, but he’d never disobey a direct order. Simmons have Grif one last look before shutting the door behind him.

“Alright! Captain Grif!” A pause, “May I call you Dexter?”

Grif sneered a bit, “I’d prefer you didn’t. But you _can_ drop the Captain bit.”

“Grif, then. Would you _mind_ explaining to me why you have mild suicidal tendencies? I mean, obviously I’d never give you medication that could actually kill you, but well, you’ve proven my theory.”

Grif rolled his eyes, “We’ve been in a war for years, I don’t think any of us _isn’t_ mildly suicidal.”

“Ah, yes, but you’re retired, aren’t you?”

Grif took a deep breath and sighed for what felt like the thousandth time,

“I don’t think we’ll ever be retired. But anyway, I just wanted some sleep, okay? I wasn’t…. I didn’t…”

Grif trailed off and Grey remained silent for a bit while Grif avoided eye contact. He looked at anything in the room that wasn’t the other human (Oh God, _was_ she even human?). He finally landed on what looked like the deck of cards Palomo and Jensen had been playing with.

He glared at the deck like it had personally wronged him. Until finally Grey spoke again in a soft voice,

“Want to talk about your hallucinations?”

His eyes snapped to hers.

“My what?”

She looked so sad with his response. She quickly neutralized her face.

“Ca-ahem, Grif. You mentioned yesterday that your Sergeant had walked into my office during your examination.”

After a moment of silence Grif realized she was waiting for his confirmation,

“Uh, yeah?”

“Grif. Sarge never entered my office yesterday. Even when I asked him to get you, I met with him in the hallway.”

Grif let the weight of that statement settle in his mind. He had. Fuck, he had been. He had gotten rid of those volleyballs, damnit! That was supposed to have been the end of it! He wasn’t supposed to!

Fuck!

“Captain Simmons tells me he’s noticed you seem to have…conversations…with people who aren’t there. Or with him when he hasn’t spoken.”

Grif sighed. Again. The jig was up. He was crazy, and now everyone would know it. Maybe he’d get a dishonorable discharge. They’d send him away instead of the other way around. At least he’d get to go home.

He would miss everyone.

He would miss Simmons.

“I- On the moon, I mean, when everyone left- I’m sure they filled you in on that shit. Sarge would never pass up on an opportunity to talk about my betrayal. Well, I missed everyone, so I made, um, have you ever seen _Cast Away?_ ”

Grif smiled wearily. He was grateful that Grey never interrupted his explanation, never judged, and her face remained neutral. He kept his voice relatively low, in case Simmons was just outside the door. He could handle Grey knowing how crazy he was, but he just didn’t think he could handle the look on Simmons’ face. Disgust _or_ pity.

“I- I know it’s not…okay. Just- I’ll get help. I know that’s what you’re going to say, that I need to go to therapy or go on anti-crazy meds. But, just, let me deal with this on my own for now?”

Dr. Grey looked at Grif with an expression that told him she would hunt him down. He nodded rapidly,

“I know, I know- I just. Please don’t send me away from them.”

There. He had said it. He tried avoiding it for as long as he could, but that’s what it came down to. He didn’t know what to do with himself away from his friends.

“Maybe eventually I’ll be all right without them, but right now, after the moon. I need to just be with them.”

He had to make sure Caboose would be okay without Church. That the Freelancers weren’t going to die of starvation or exhaustion. That Sarge knew the team hadn’t- and wouldn’t- abandon him. That Tucker knew he had a friend, a stable- ha, somewhat stable- friend he could talk to when it all got to be too much. That Donut was alive, let alone had someone to braid his hair and who he could… begrudgingly gossip with. He needed to tell Lopez he could speak Spanish and then torment him by pretending he couldn’t.

And…. And he had to make sure Simmons was happy, well, as happy as any of them could be. Grif sometimes just needed to make sure Simmons was alive and well. But, he really just wanted to be near him, and spend time with him and make him laugh and talk about stupid shit together.

Dr. Grey nodded, seeming to understand to some extent that this was a part of his healing process. She uncrossed her legs and stood up,

“You’ll stay here another night to get some non-drug induced sleep. I am recommending,” she gave him a pointed look, “that you come to my office every other day starting tomorrow. Tell your teammates whatever you like and I’ll go along with it, for now but I recommend you tell them the truth eventually. I understand you will need to stay on Chorus for a while, if you plan on sticking around for your freelancer buddies,”

Her voice became even more sickeningly sweet, making it that much more threatening,

“And make no mistake Grif- I _will_ hunt you down like a dog if you miss a meeting and don’t give me any kind of warning or reasonable excuse.”

And with that she opened the door and left. Grif expected Simmons to be waiting on the other side of the door and was half surprised and half disappointed to find no one there.

He was surprised when a few hours later, Tucker came strolling in like he owned the place. He was also out of armor. Grif crossed his arms,

“I see they’re letting just anyone in.”

“Ha! You’re just mad I didn’t visit sooner, bitch.”

Grif rubbed the back of his neck, unsure if he wanted to tell the truth or not. Luckily, Tucker liked the sound of his own voice too much to let silence linger,

“I actually, uh, did visit earlier. While you were asleep. Dude, you were _out_. It was kind of hilarious, actually, Simmons was hovering like a mother hen. He kept sitting down and touching your hand for a second then standing back up. You could _feel_ his anxiety radiating off of him. I had to tell him Caboose wanted him to help fix Freckles just to get him to leave!”

Grif didn’t really know what to say, he could hardly confront his feelings about Simmons with himself, he wasn’t about to start talking about it to Tucker. He decided to deflect,

“Yeah, Simmons is a worrier. Speaking of worrying, how’s your boyfriend?”

Tucker didn’t even fucking flinch,

“Wash is fine. I mean, he’s not fine- but he’s going to be okay. Everyone’s going to be okay.”

Tucker finally walked closer to Grif, standing next to the bed now.

“Um, about what I said,”

Grif could feel another emotional talk coming on,

“Tucker-”

“No, damnit, Grif. I was a grade A douche and while I think at the time it was warranted because you were being a douche too, I was wrong. Especially when you came back, cause at least you tried and I’m gonna be real honest here, Wash and Carolina? They’d be dead without you. We would all probably be dead if you hadn’t come to help.”

Grif was nearly speechless, he really hadn’t expected this level of emotional maturity from fucking Tucker of all people!

“Plus, oh my God Simmons would not stop _moping_ while you were gone, so thanks for coming back just to stop that, at least! I think Caboose tried to make Simmons his knew pet project!”

Grif laughed. Fuck, he had needed this.

“Well, you know- I knew you guys were doomed without me! I _had_ to come save your asses!”

Tucker smiled and rolled his eyes. He turned to leave,

“Well, that was good to get off my chest! Do you want me to get Simmons in here? He’s been hanging around outside for a while! Unless you two had like a lover’s spat or something?”

Grif heard an indignant squawk from outside the door and he rolled his eyes as Tucker left without waiting for an answer. He heard ruffling from outside the door and saw Tucker push Simmons into the room and wink at Grif as he shut the door behind him.

Simmons wrung his hands together,

“You don’t have to- you can just go back to sleep if you want. I just, if it’s okay with you, I want to- I can go back outside too?”

Grif took a deep breath and smiled. Tucker was right, nervous energy was just radiating off of the guy.

“Sit down, Simmons.”

He scrambled for the chair and pulled it close to Grif’s side but kept his body rigid and his hands in his lap. Grif knew he needed to have another Talk with the guy, but he was honestly enjoying making him stew in silence. He knew how much Simmons hated silence in times like these. It was kind of a fun game to see how long the cyborg would last before he had to say something.

It also helped to give Grif time to think about what he wanted to say. Maybe they didn’t have to talk about it- maybe Grif could just rile Simmons up enough to make his voice squeak and he could just enjoy being with him a little longer.

But apparently enough had been enough for Simmons. Good- pushed to the limit Simmons made nervous wreck Simmons disappear for a bit. Mad Simmons meant arguing and _that_ Grif could work with right now,

“Grif, what the fuck is going on?!”

“Haven’t you heard, Simmons? I’m crazy!”

“Cut the shit, Dex. I’m- I’m worried about you, okay! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Honestly? Yeah, kinda.”

Ha, beat at his own game. Simmons wouldn’t be shocking Grif any time soon. Not with his name, not with honest truth- Grif was too tired and mentally put out to lie anymore.

“Wha- Oh so this is all a game to you? You just want to stress me out as much as you possibly can?”

“Is that what you want this to be? Would you rather I was just messing around to fuck with you?”

“Well,”

But Grif didn’t want to hear Simmons tell him he didn’t care about his feelings because _feelings_.

“That would be easier, wouldn’t it? Then you could just tell me to fuck off and we could go back to normal?”

That must have hit a nerve in Simmons because his head snapped to look Grif straight in the eye,

“I don’t _want_ things to go back to normal, I want you to be okay and to not worry you’re going to-”

He cut himself off.

“Leave?” Grif finished for him then gave a mirthless laugh,

“Is that what you were going to say? Cause last I checked- you were the ones that left _me_ to die on that moon. _”_

Simmons remained silent, his human eye flickering back and forth between Grif’s eye and the eye that used to be Simmons’,

“Or didn’t you guys think of that? That you had taken the only means off of the moon and no way to contact you guys. So that when I _did_ eventually come to my senses, I was stuck! And I missed you guys _so much_ that I drew you on volleyballs and started hallucinating your voices and I thought of all the things I could only _wish_ I could say to you, that I could only _hope_ I’d actually get to say to you and I would rehearse saying it to you over and over and over.”

Grif couldn’t see Simmons anymore. He was back on the moon, talking to volleyball Simmons’ maroon helmet and golden visor that forced Grif to only imagine the judgement and hate on the face behind it. And no way for him to be proven as anything but right when it came to his own self-hatred.

Grif flinched and was brought back to reality when he felt Simmons touch his hand. Simmons looked at him,

“Is that what the friend thing is all about? Why you keep apologizing?”

Grif withdrew his hand- he didn’t want Simmons’ pity,

“That’s part of it.”

Simmons remained silent, waiting for Grif to expand. He didn’t want to, he wanted to stop talking and torture Simmons a bit out of spite, but he…he owed it to Simmons.

“But, I- I quit you guys first. So, I really can’t…”

Simmons interrupted him,

“No, you’re wrong!”

Grif shook his head in confusion,

“Grif, you didn’t deserve for us to leave you like that. When you quit, we should have- at least _I_ should have stayed behind with you, or we should have realized we were essentially leaving you to die! You can’t…take all the blame.”

Simmons took a deep breath,

“You have every right to be mad at me. Hell, Dex, _I’m_ mad at me!”

Grif smiled and turned back to look at Simmons, he still didn’t want to be touched yet,

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name this much in a long time.”

Simmons smiled back,

“Not since, um, well…The incident that must not be named.”

Gif laughed,

“Oh my God! You’re such a nerd! But yeah, not since, uh- then.”

“So that’s why you’ve been talking to yourself. Because you’ve been hallucinating since the moon.”

“Yup.”

Simmons shifted in his chair, he was leaning forward. As though he was trying to get close to Grif in any way he possibly could without actually touching him. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“So, what, um, what do we say?”

Grif examined his fingernails,

“The usual stuff- Tucker was a self-righteous creep, Caboose mostly was just nonsense and blah blah blah, Church would just yell at everyone-”

“You made a Church, too?”

“Yeah but he kept deflating, I’m still not sure if that was on purpose or not, honestly. Anyway, then Donut would say innuendos, Doc would disappear, Sarge would insult me and try to kill me and you would agree with anything he said and call me a useless fatass.”

Simmons looked hurt,

“Really?”

“I mean, yeah- nothing out of the ordinary. Oh! I even learned Spanish for Lopez’s parts, but don’t tell him I can understand him now.”

“You taught yourself Spanish?”

Simmons sounded impressed. But that was probably just because he never expected Grif to be able to learn anything. He nodded,

“That’s…wow, Grif!”

“What? Unexpected?”

Grif didn’t know what he was doing. He was too tired to start another fight, but it was all he knew to do. Ugh, all it did was guilt Simmons, it’s not- what he wanted to do. Deflecting. He was deflecting.

“No, Grif!”

Even Simmons sounded done with him.

“That’s, you _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

He lifted his hands in feign-surrender and nodded, “I know, I know.”

Grif saw Simmons examining him carefully. Simmons spoke,

“Grif, I just. I need to make sure you know that I don’t agree with Sarge on _everything_. I heard some of the things you were saying to yourself. Grif, you aren’t… you’re worth…I just mean that you mean a lot to me- to all of us. Even to Sarge, even if he won’t admit it!”

“Simmons-”

Grif started. He didn’t want his friend to get his hopes up. He didn’t want to get his own hopes up. But Simmons stopped him. They did always seem to be able to understand each other without fully understanding each other,

“I know, _I know_ this isn’t going to solve everything- if anything! I just need you to know that we- _I’m_ , at least- not going to leave you again.”

Grif could feel his eyes heating up. He felt so fucking raw. It hurt and it made him just want to be alone, but he also desperately didn’t want Simmons to leave. He took a deep breath,

“Would you mind hitting the lights? I’m getting pretty tired, it’s been a long day. A long month.”

Simmons nodded and stood up,

“You can, um, stay though. Please?”

Simmons nodded again and gave a watery smile. Grif kind of hated himself for having to ask or say that out loud, but he was also glad when Simmons returned to the seat, his cyborg eye glowing a dim red. It helped that Grif could tell he was still there with his eyes closed because of the dim red glow.


	2. Ho-Hos and Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif has nightmares and a lot of emotional talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this all in one day, but like it ended up being way too fucking long so I had to break it up

Grif had nightmares again. This time he was at the blues and red’s base. But he and Locus had arrived too late, he walked into the room where all the Freelancer’s were frozen in their armor and he immediately took his helmet off and threw up.

He left the room and hurried to where he knew the cells were (because dream). There he found Tucker and Donut dead in separate cells, their visors cracked around the gunshot holes. But no trace of Caboose, Sarge, or Simmons?

He left their bodies behind; he couldn’t do anything for them now.

He found Caboose’s body in a separate hallway, he could just imagine they had tricked him into trusting them, then killed him when he least expected it. He didn’t deserve to die like that- he deserved to go home, find a best friend that wouldn’t leave him behind or betray him.

He found Simmons’ body just around the corner. His helmet was off and a pile of dried blood surrounding his head, his cyborg eye dull and lifeless, his human eye just as unseeing. He could see the scene play out, he watched them kill Caboose and tried to fight back. Sarge held him back, betrayed his own team. Fuck, now that he thought about it, it was probably Sarge that killed Tucker too- finally got to kill the blues.

No, no- Sarge wouldn’t. They had become a family- a crazy family, but he wouldn’t. He especially wouldn’t kill Simmons.

But he couldn’t stop his imagination, he saw Sarge hold Simmons as his douchebag dopplegangar slit his throat. He let out a wet sob as he fell to his knees next to Simmons’ cold body and cradled his head in his lap. His own helmet left abandoned in the room with the dead Freelancers.

He rocked back and forth, whispering the words he had rehearsed to a volleyball so many times to the corpse,

“I’m so so so so so so so-late, lazy, useless, disappointing, late late LATE.”

_Your sorry ass is next._

Grif heard Sarge’s voice in his head, thinking it was his hallucinations again. He heard a gun cock behind him and turned his head. There stood the blues and reds with Sarge in the lead, the barrel of his shotgun an inch away from his face.

Grif woke up with his heart pounding. The room was still dark, darker than before. There was no red glow anymore- Simmons had left.

That was fine, why would he stay? He had a room to get back to, he probably had shit to do- other people to see. Grif had only asked him to stay while he fell asleep, he had no obligation to stay for hours on end.

He took a few deep breaths to calm his heart rate. Fuck, he just wanted to sleep until his appointment with Grey, but he really didn’t want to have any more nightmares. He didn’t want to see their dead bodies again when he closed his eyes.

He tried to think of home- of Kai. There was no way she was dead. They’d go home, they’d go back to their shitty apartment in Hawaii and live off of shitty army payments and go to the beach everyday and lay in the warm sand-

Grif fell asleep and had nightmares of each of his friends rejecting him. One by one. Telling him why he didn’t deserve to get off of the moon. He finally woke up an hour before his appointment with Grey but just remained laying in bed in the dark.

Whatever.

\-----

He told Grey about his conversations with Tucker and Simmons. He told her about some parts of some of his dreams. The rejection mostly, and his fear of their deaths. She talked him through what he already knew- that they had already forgiven him- that they accepted him.

Didn’t stop the dreams, obviously.

He supposed she was right. That some part of him didn’t forgive himself or couldn’t believe they really forgave him- and that’s probably why he was having these nightmares.

He sighed and told her to give him some time. She nodded and told him cheerily that he could leave- but he would be expected in two days.

Then he…didn’t really know where to go. He supposed his old room would do, but he also wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Simmons. He also _desperately_ needed to see Simmons alive and well.

He told himself to calm down, he was fine- everyone was fine. Maybe- he’d see if he could check in on Caboose or someone if he could. He felt partially responsible for Wash’s injury seeing as he probably could have stopped the deranged idiot from walking into the middle of a gunfight, so he decided against seeing him.

He heard familiar voices coming from a few hallways down from the entrance (exit? One of those perspective things, he supposed) to the infirmary. He stood up straighter and tried to make his face as not- wrecked as he possibly could without actually being able to see it. He rounded the corner to face his former Privates.

“Come on, Antoine- don’t you think we should at least try to go see him?”

“Matthews, Jensen said-”

Bitters cut himself off when he saw Grif. It was pretty obvious they were talking about him. Grif decided to try to challenge this,

“No, no- don’t let me interrupt. What exactly did Private Jensen say?”

His voice must have surprised Matthews because he turned around and bumped into Bitters,

“Cap-Captain! We were just going to see you! But when we went in, they said you were asleep, then they said you were with Dr. Grey and that we had to wait! Bitters wanted to just wake you up, but-”

Grif was pretty glad they didn’t wake him up, he was pretty sure they would probably have walked in on him having a mental breakdown and that was not what they deserved,

“Totally maverick. I’m disappointed you didn’t I was getting pretty bored in there.”

Grif might have imagined it, but he thought he saw Bitters puff up his chest a bit when he said that. He also thought he saw him put one hand on Matthews’ elbow and another on his waist- still standing in front of Bitters. But he also started looking down the hallway and saw Sarge. Of all the group he wanted to see- Sarge was absolutely the last. He shuddered a bit, at the memory of his nightmares.

“Sir, they say that you helped take down some impersonating terrorists who were going to destroy Earth!”

Honestly, Grif was barely listening to Matthews and he sure as hell wasn’t looking at him. He could kind of see him wiggle and smack Bitters’ hands away from his ass.

“Yeah, uhuh- I’m a hero alright. Hey, how would you guys like to do one of our kitchen raids? I’m starving and I doubt the cafeteria is serving any good food right now. Whaddya say?”

He finally looked at the pair who had frozen in their movements. They looked at each other carefully and then nodded. Grif smiled and started sneaking towards the kitchens,

“Although, sir, you should probably know that umm, well-”

“That the selection has expanded! They have actual Twinkies now,”

Grif stopped in his tracks. Twinkies? Wait did that mean.

“Do they have other Hostess stuff? My God, Matthews- do they have Ho-Hos?!”

“I think so, sir?”

Grif sniffled a bit.

“Uh, sir are you alright?”

Grif wiped a tear from his eye,

“This is the best day of my life, Matthews.”

About two hours and a fuck ton of stolen frozen Ho-Hos later, Grif was lounging in The Closet alone, munching and ignoring the world. He still hadn’t interacted with anyone since being released from the infirmary. He had said goodbye to Bitters and Matthews an hour ago and tried to wander around a bit more.

Chorus was pretty much the same. Well- the fucking army base was the same. Less people, though and less fighting. A LOT less stress. It made finding people a lot harder because there wasn’t such a rigid schedule or a billion people passing in the hallways that probably just saw who he was looking for.

He started walking toward his and Simmons’ old room and got just outside the door before he wussed out and ran away to hide in this closet.

Cue stupid jokes.

Whatever, he had his Ho-Hos and that’s all he needed. He would stay in there forever if he didn’t feel obliged to at least go see Donut and Caboose once. Just to make sure they were alive, if nothing else.

He knew he needed to see Sarge and maybe rub it in his face that he betrayed the team too. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Just in case he was still mad at him. Normally he could deal with an angry Sarge, but now he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t kill him… Well, he wouldn’t…probably.

Grif’s stomach turned and he suddenly felt like throwing up. He dropped the Ho-Ho he was eating and stood up, putting his face in the giant disgusting sink and he threw up. Man those things do not taste as good coming back up.

He threw up until he was dry heaving. He wiped his eyes then turned on the faucet and washed his mouth out. He drank some of the water for good measure- just to have something in his stomach.

He sat back down on some boxes, exhausted. It was probably late. He had barely gotten any actual sleep thanks to the nightmares. He should probably go back to the infirmary and tell them about his stomach- there he could at least avoid Simmons and probably Sarge.

He closed his eyes and put his head against the cold stone wall. He smiled to himself, at least the throw up didn’t make the room smell any worse. The chemicals from the cleaning products were overpowering, thank God none of them were the kind he was allergic to.

He was enjoying the peace and quiet the dark cold room brought him when he heard footsteps stop outside the door and some soft knocking.

“Grif? Grif I know you’re in there,” it was Simmons. Of course it was Simmons.

Grif rolled his eyes,

“Well if you know that, you also know I probably can’t open the door from in here, so you’ll have to open it.”

The door creaked open and light flooded the closet. Grif gave Simmons a crooked smile,

“What, not gonna come in?”

Simmons gave him a pointed look. Grif stood up on shaky legs, stupid stomach. Luckily Simmons probably couldn’t tell he’d just yarfed himself,

“You know, I chose this spot because I thought you specifically would never come near here again.”

“I see that worked out well for you. Funny because it’s the first place I looked because I knew you thought I’d avoid it.”

They closed the door and the chemical smell immediately disappeared. The rest of the base smelled like sweat. Grif frowned, he preferred the chemicals.

“So, who sent you?”

They fell easily into step with each other. Grif followed Simmons’ lead,

“Sent me? Oh! No one! I just…guess it’s old habits. Besides, you didn’t look too comfortable in there, you kind of looked like you were going to throw up.”

Grif frowned but didn’t say anything. He stuffed a hand into his pocket and found a few more Ho-Hos in there. He’d save them for later.

“I thought we could, you know raid the kitchen and watch the old remakes of Star Wars. The ones with hologram Sean Connery as Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Grif felt his stomach drop again at the mention of a kitchen raid.

“I don’t think I should steal from the kitchen twice in one day,” he said. Then he pulled a packet of Ho-Hos from his pocket and tossed it at Simmons as they stopped in front of their bedroom door.

“Wow, I can’t believe you have leftovers, let alone are sharing them with me.”

Grif shrugged, “What can I say, I had extra. Matthews and Bitters are lucky I let them take any. I guess I’m in a sharing mood.”

He opened the door and walked into the room,

“The rest of the plan sounds good, though. Honestly anything that isn’t fucking Reservoir Dogs again sounds like fucking heaven.”

Simmons laughed and closed the door behind him.

The rest of the afternoon went by fast and it felt so normal Grif almost forgot about the voices and the moon. He felt like they had just stayed on Chorus after the war was over.

But then Simmons paused the movies and announced that dinner would be serving soon,

“We can meet up with Sarge and the others there!”

Grif’s stomach turned and he was glad he hadn’t eaten any more snacks, having claimed to be saving them for later. He had received a weird look from Simmons before but not as weird as the one he knew he’d be getting if he told him he wasn’t hungry now,

“Oh shit, it’s that late already? I told Grey I’d see her before going to dinner.”

The lie came out so easily it was scary,

“You go ahead, don’t wait up, she’ll probably make me eat some disgusting weird hospital food.”

Simmons hesitated but nodded,

“I’ll try to bring you back some dessert.”

_Wow, waste my time with bullshit movies then lie to me when I’m nice to you. See if I do anything nice for you again._

_Finally! Simmons has seen the error of his ways and realized what a useless pile of meat-sack you are, Minor Junior Private Negative First Class Grif!_

_Oh! Are we beating his meat, sir?_

_¿Por qué incluso estamos perdiendo nuestro aliento en él?_ _(Why are we even wasting our breathe on him?)_

Fuck. Grif screwed his eyes shut and concentrated for a minute. He needed to go see Grey. Then he could at least not be lying to Simmons.

Grif had heard the door close behind Simmons. He knew he wasn’t in the room anymore, but he still heard red team’s insults. He got up and hurried to the infirmary.

Grey was nowhere to be found. He sat outside her office for about ten minutes before he got fed up with the stares and whispers. Maybe he was making those up in his head too. Either way he hated it.

He wanted to go back to his and Simmons’ room and just break down on his bed- but then he’d probably get questions from Simmons. Plus, he’d have to explain what happened with Grey and why he was back so early and why his eyes were red. He’d have to push their beds apart from the Megabed they’d created to watch movies on.

He couldn’t go back to the closet now that Simmons knew about it and didn’t fear it.

He really didn’t have the energy to actually go to dinner and see everyone yet. He decided to go to the roof. Maybe no one would look for him up there, thinking he was too lazy to go up all those stairs.

He stopped by the room and grabbed a packet of smokes before heading up there. Maybe those would help his stomach a bit.

To his surprise, the cloudy sky and dark sunset actually did calm him down. It was nice to just sit there and watch everyone below him and not care if they saw him because they wouldn’t interact. It was peaceful.

It kind of reminded Grif of Blood Gulch. Sitting on top of a base, his legs dangling off the side, smoking and letting the wind blow through his hair while he watched the sunset. He missed the company that Blood Gulch had. The simplicity too.

It was inevitable that someone would come up to find him. Plenty of people had seen him up there that it wasn’t like he wanted it kept secret. Plus he had stayed up there way past sunset, and consequently dinner- so Simmons was probably looking for him anyway.

So when he heard the door to the roof open and close and footsteps behind him, he was only surprised when it wasn’t Simmons’ voice that echoed against the concrete roof,

“So, this is what dirtbags do while their team worries about them.”

Grif was too relaxed to even flinch when Sarge spoke. He had hardly realized how tense he’d been the past few days until he got this calm. Jeez, was this really how he’d always been before?

No wonder Sarge hated him.

Grif just smiled and turned to Sarge who walked up to stand next to him. He offered Sarge the box of cigarettes. It did surprise him when Sarge took one, he’d never taken Sarge for a smoker,

“Ah Simmons’ll be fine. He worries too much anyway.”

He did noticed how shaky Sarge’s hand was as he lit the cigarette,

“I’m not just talking about Simmons, you know. Everyone’s worried about you, you know. Hell _I’m_ worried about you, son.”

Grif looked away and out over the lights of Armonia. The city was alive with lights- life of actual life, of normal lives. Bars and clubs and apartments and people just living…instead of live fire and mortars constantly firing.

“You were never worried before, why should you start now, old man?”

Sarge took a deep drag and coughed a bit as he exhaled. Grif knew he was being unfair. That his hallucinations were fucking with his view of reality, but damnit, a lot of what his fake Sarge voice said were direct replications of what he’s said before. And a part of him hurt to know that even after he’d saved Sarge’s life on more than one account- he would still talk about shooting him and killing him and how useless he was and…

Grif shook his head,

“You’ll never give up, will you? You want to die fighting and you’ll try to take every one of us down with you.”

Sarge dropped his hand and sat down next to Grif,

“I’ve always said I wanted to go in the line of duty, but I just keep getting older and older and somehow I just keep surviving every time. I’m starting to think I _will_ die a natural death.”

“And that’s just not acceptable?” Grif asked, ridiculously.

“Well,” Sarge started, “It took a lot, but I think I’ve realized I don’t want a hero’s death, if it means I’ve become the villain.”

Grif scrunched his face up in confusion and threw his hands in the air,

“Sir, excuse my asking, but what the fuck does that mean?”

Sarge turned to look at Grif, who was still pointedly not looking at Sarge,

“Son, after our waterpark retirement-when you quit I thought it meant the end to red team, I thought it was my last chance to finally die in battle. So I chased it as far as I could and ignored all the signs. I betrayed everyone and nearly got us all killed. I talk a big game, but you know it, I know it. I fucked up and joined the wrong side. Just cause I wanted to fight something.”

Grif nodded along, that made sense. It was nice to hear Sarge actually make sense for once. He slowly let himself turn and look at Sarge in the eye. He had been so scared all day, since joining back up with the gang really. Scared to face Sarge.

So it was disconcerting, at least, that when he finally did face him- he didn’t find a shot gun barrel, or a blood-thirsty soldier, or even an angry white father-figure.

He just saw tired grey eyes and far too many scars and wrinkles for an active- well, as fucking active as Sarge was- to have.

“Sir?”

“I think I finally realized that I’m okay to live out the rest of my life a civilian. As long as it’s with my team- my family. And, when my time does come, I expect you all to either help me blow myself up in a blaze of glory, or give me a proper Viking’s funeral.”

Now that- did surprise Grif. He never thought Sarge would change his mind about dying in battle. After all, practically every day was a good day to die according to him.

Sarge’s cigarette was burning out, despite him only having taken probably three drags,

“That’s an awful waste.”

Grif pointed out. Sarge looked down and smushed the smoking end against the roof,

“Ah, I was never one for lung cancer, anyway. A stupid way to died, if you ask me.”

Sarge stood up,

“I know I come off more than a little strong, son. But, you can trust me. You know that?”

Grif nodded, “Sure, sir.”

“Good. Good. I do worry about all of you. You’re all too young to die, and it just wouldn’t be fair to me if one of you got all the glory!”

Grif nodded, staring out at the lights again and waiting for Sarge to go back inside. He felt a lump of anxiety well up inside of him as he heard the door to the roof open,

“Sarge?”

“Hmm?”

“Umm, tell Simmons and the rest to quit worrying about me. I’ll be down to finish Sean Connery Star Wars in a minute.”

Sarge gave a hum of understanding, but it sounded more disappointed than anything else. He hadn’t gotten it. Grif needed him to know he understood.

“And Sarge!” Grif didn’t wait to hear if Sarge was listening or not this time, “Thank you.”

Grif really hoped Sarge understood this time. That the thank you was for more than he let on. This was how red team worked. They said meaningless things that meant more than they sounded. Grif still refused to turn around, because that would break the red team code. That would _change_ things.

But he didn’t hear the door close or footsteps walking away or, hell he couldn’t hear Sarge breathing behind him- but that was more because the wind was blowing and the red team leader was probably ten feet away.

So, just to make sure Sarge hadn’t just died of a heart attack or an aneurism or…fuck was actually even there at all. Fuck had it all just been an elaborate hallucination? Were his fantasies manifesting themselves now and visually too?!

Grif turned his head around to check up on Sarge.

He was there all right. Red shit, army pants, dark grey buzz cut and stubble and weird old man muscles and all. He just stood there, illuminated by the light from inside, one hand on the door knob. He just stared at Grif.

“Sarge?”

Grif stood up, his own cigarette forgotten on the grown. He stepped forward and something broke in the air between them.

Sarge let the door go and briskly walked over to Grif, his arms outstretched. For a second Grif thought he had finally lost it and was going to push Grif over the edge.

But then those arms enveloped around him and Sarge was howling like a beagle next to his ear. Grif hardly knew what to do, so he hesitantly lifted his arms and hugged back.

Well, it was done. This was different. Red team was different. There was no going back from an openly affectionate gesture like this one from Sarge of all people.

After a minute, Grif couldn’t take anymore,

“Umm, Sir? Are you dying? Am I dying? What’s going on?”

Sarge finally calmed down and stepped back. Grif was- once again- surprised. Because despite all the howling, Sarge’s eyes were dry as ever, and his voice was steady as a goddamn rock,

“Oh nothing. I just think, it’s about time for a change. And I think I’ve owe you that hug for a while now.”

“Oh my God are you hugging everyone now? Have you hugged Donut? Tucker? Sarge- have you hugged Simmons?”

Sarge shuddered,

“No, no and ah-no. Although I have hugged Caboose, unwillingly, a few times.”

Grif smiled, “Oh my God, can I _tell_ Simmons that you hugged me?”

“If you do, I’ll deny it- no one will ever believe you, I’m afraid. No one that matters anyway.”

Grif smiled even harder, if that was possible,

“You’re an evil, evil man- you know that, right?”

Sarge clapped him on the back,

“You know I live to torture you, I’m just getting more creative.”

Sarge led Grif back inside and back to his and Simmons’ room. He still wasn’t hungry, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t have a problem with breakfast.

Sarge knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a reply. Simmons was sitting on their Megabed, the room looked tremendously more organized and put-together than when Grif left it a few hours earlier. Simmons had obviously stress-cleaned.

Grif wasn’t sure why, but he felt giddy. Oh right, he knew why- Sarge had hugged him, actually fucking hugged him less than five minutes ago. That was something he would never in a million years have imagined happening.

Simmons jumped up, “Grif! Where the fuck did you find him, sir?”

Sarge gave a huff, “He was up on the roof. I’ll tell the others to quit the search, although I can’t imagine they’re actually still looking. Get to sleep, both of you.”

Sarge turned and left, winking at Grif. Simmons scratched as his forearm again- there were red marks from where he had most likely been scratching before.

“Want to explain why you lied to me about going to see Grey? Then disappeared for fucking hours on end after you were on suicide watch?”

Grif pushed past Simmons and sat on his side of the Megabed,

“First of all, I wasn’t on suicide watch…not exactly. And second of all, I didn’t lie about Grey either! I mean, I did about having an appointment, but I really did go to see her! She just wasn’t there! So I went for a smoke. And third, you want to explain _yourself_? I haven’t seen you do that since after the tank.”

Grif nodded his head and looked pointedly at Simmons’ arms. Simmons moved his arms away from each other like they were on fire and held his hands to his sides,

“I, well. Well, fuck , Grif! I started again after you quit and we abandoned you! I think Caboose noticed and tried to stick by me for a while, but. I mean, you know- it’s a hard habit to stop.”

Grif urged Simmons to approach him, when he was within reach, he grabbed Simmons’ arms and rubbed at the scratch marks. When Grif looked up at Simmons; face, he was looking down at Grif with a sad expression, emphasized by the shadows made by the low lights in the room and his glowing cyborg eye.

Fuck it, he was tired enough. He’d had enough emotional conversations. Like Sarge said- try something different. Everything was different now.

But Simmons spoke first,

“You remember you’re the one that said we should pretend the closet incident never happened?”

Fuck, Grif was just amazed again by how they seemed to read each other and just know each other so well but stay just a little out of step. He swallowed his confession down and nodded.

“I always had the feeling it was because I reacted, well- the way I did when it was over. You did it for me. Because I was embarrassed.”

Grif nodded again.

“You don’t, you didn’t have to. Fuck I’m not good at this.”

Grif had no idea where this was going. He- well, he hoped. But just couldn’t _know_. Not unless Simmons fucking outright said it. So he remained silent and just did what he could, he nodded again.

Simmons let out a frustrated laugh and backed up.

“God, you- you- you just _do_ this to me! You know exactly which buttons to press and it isn’t _fair_. I suppose you figured it out a while ago, but I! I only figured it out because you were gone!”

Grif just sat there, staring and let Simmons talk himself out. He was, he liked hearing what Simmons had to say.

“You were gone and I couldn’t figure out why it hurt so bad when you said you didn’t like me- or, well, you said you didn’t like any of us. But you looked at me. You looked right at me and said “I quit you” like were some- like we were…and I hadn’t know how much depends on you until you weren’t there anymore.”

Grif felt his heart beat in his throat, he could heart the pounding in his ears.

“I swear Caboose must be some kind of genius because I hadn’t even realized until he pointed out how much I talk about you. And I was just so fucking happy when you came back, I even forgot we were in fucking prison cells and then for a second I thought- when you said you needed to tell me something, I thought… but you were apologizing and that was better. Honestly it was. But you came back and for me that was good enough.”

Grif felt he should say something; this was more than Simmons had talked to him in a long time. But his voice wouldn’t work,

“But then you barely even argued about the pizza an I guess I get why, but…then in the ship and in the infirmary. You just worried me so much. So much it fucking hurt, I’ve never been scared like that before, except with the tank. I didn’t want to leave you because how could I protect you from _you_? But Grey came in and made me leave.”

Grif felt like this was too good to be true, this was- this was everything.

Oh. Wait. Fuck.

Oh God, was this a hallucination? Sarge hadn’t been. But he had thought he was, until he hugged him…No, Grif had felt Simmons’ arms. This was real. It was unreal-ly real. But it was real. He felt himself grin.

“And you- of course you would go to that fucking closet. Because you had it all figured out way before I had. And-”

Simmons stopped in front of Grif, his hands pulling at his hair.

“And why are you grinning when I’m pulling my fucking hair out? You dick?!”

There it was, Simmons’ voice had gone shrill. This was that good feeling Grif had been missing since before Chorus, since Blood Gulch when they’d all been together just talking and fucking around in a canyon.

He finally found his voice again,

“So why didn’t you pull apart the Megabed, Simmons?”

Simmons blushed and let his hands fall to his sides.

“I- well, I had kind of hoped…”

Grif stood up and walked to the door, but stopped when Simmons put a hand on his shoulder,

“If I’m completely wrong, it’s okay. We can pull apart the bed and forget the whole thing, I just- please don’t leave again. I don’t think I could stand it again.”

Grif turned around and faced the cyborg. He reached a hand out behind him and turned off the light. He used the same hand to reach out and touch Simmons’ face, the cyborg half- it was cool under his touch.

“I don’t think I could stand it either, Dick. It’s like you said, I figured it out a long time ago.”

Grif reached up with his other hand and cradled Simmons’ face, staring into his human eye.

All he had ever wanted to be go home. But he didn’t need to anymore. Anywhere Simmons was- was his home. That was what he had really figured out on that moon base.

Well, that and loneliness really fucked with your psyche.

Grif leaned up and smashed his lips against Simmons’. It was nothing like the Temple of Procreation, this time they were both extremely sober. But it was real and it was requited, and- Fuck Grif hoped it wasn’t an elaborate dream or hallucination. Although, for now maybe he would need some help deciphering what was and wasn’t real.

But he was 98% sure.

Simmons was doing more than Grif could have ever imagined- he was surprising Grif in ways the stupid painted visor never could and never would.

Simmons grabbed at Grif’s hair and moaned as Grif moved his hands from his face down to his hips. He whispered Grif’s name with more raw loving emotion than Grif’s stupid hallucinations could ever dream to come up with.

Besides, the hallucinations were only ever cruel to him and there was no way the way Simmons looked at Grif when he opened his eyes could ever be cruel.

Grif frowned and pulled Simmons in for a hug. Simmons slowly lowered them down to sit on the bed, while Grif moved his head to the crook of Simmons’ neck and finally _finally_ whispered what he’d always wanted to but never could, even alone on the moon,

“I love you.”

Grif pulled his head back and looked at Simmons straight on,

“You have no idea how badly I wanted to say that that night in the closet. How hard it was not to say it,”

Simmons just shook his head,

“How you could possibly love me and for so long, without falling out of love with me, I’ll never understand.”

Grif quirked an eyebrow,

“Oh, it’s easy- I love Dick. I think deep down, I’ve always known.”

Simmons laughed and fell back against the bed, finally relaxed. Grif watched him, his eyes finally adjusted to the dark. He climbed on top of Simmons and put hands on either side of his face, petting his hair.

Simmons sighed, “Fuck, I think we’ll be needing another entire moon base to retire on after the fucking emotional journey this has been.”

Grif leaned down and happily kissed Simmons again. God- he was going to kiss Simmons as many times as he possibly could- just because he can.

Maybe he would tell Tucker he kissed Simmons and they could torture him and not tell anyone else they were finally together.

Grif collapsed next to Simmons, he was tired, but he kept his eyes open. He just- he just wanted to be sure.

“Hey Dex,”

Grif’s eyes were wide open, he needed to make sure,

“I know, it’s probably a given,”

Simmons’ eyes met his,

“But, for what it’s worth- I love you too.”

Grif surged up and kissed Simmons again, just to make extra sure. Simmons smiled and closed his eyes as Grif pulled the covers over them. He watched Simmons fall asleep, he kept watching, kind of terrified to fall asleep. Just in case this was a dream, or that he would have another nightmare while he was with Simmons.

He heard Simmons’ voice in his head, because of course it wouldn’t be gone and of course it would be Simmons,

_Who could love a fat pig like you? We’ll wake up in the morning and agree to never talk about it- just like the closet incident._

Grif reached out and grabbed Simmons’ hand, but moved half an inch away from Simmons, just in case- only for the red head to follow him and end up even closer than before. Grif resigned himself to fall asleep with Simmons’ head by his chest and their intertwined hands on Simmons’ waist.

Well, whatever the morning brings will come in the morning- Grif was going to enjoy this now. He leaned down and kissed the top of Simmons’ head, and stayed like that, with his mouth pressed against his head. And, if what Sarge said about civilian life was true, then Grif could live with that.

Maybe the reds and blues could go in on an apartment complex together or something. Sarge could get a room, and Grif and Simmons could live together, and Tucker and Wash would finally get together and live together with Junior. And Caboose could finally get a non-mechanical pet. Doc and Donut could have a non-radioactive garden that Simmons would inevitably destroy.

Chorus wouldn’t be such a bad place to settle down on. After all, it was alive, and as long as his family was with him. As long as he knew they were happy.

He still had a lot to work through for his own happiness. But, as he held Simmons’ hand and drifted off, he knew he wouldn’t be alone. And at least for that night, he felt it would be enough to keep the nightmares away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note, after re-reading my first page on Word- I honestly have no fucking clue where the thing with Ho-Hos came from. I just wanted to be creative and get away from the obvious Oreos thing. I think I'll have to go the store tomorrow and buy some because Jesus Christ I'm telling myself something  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Also- I'm an asshole so my own description for this fic when I literally started writing it at 10 am this morning was "you know, pretending season 15 happened but also they aren’t out of fucking character"- this is based solely on my opinion that they would go check on Wash before going to get pizza


End file.
